


Ocean Sides High School

by PhilidelphiaAsh



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 07:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/881153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhilidelphiaAsh/pseuds/PhilidelphiaAsh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Amis attend high school in a modern setting. You've got your jocks, your band geeks, your rebels, and your social activist nerd types. And then you have the Friends of the ABC, known to themselves as Les Amis. This story follows Grantaire through the ups and downs of his high school life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ocean Sides High School

**Author's Note:**

> I warn you, this is not only my first Les Mis fic, but also my first AU fic. I hope I don't fuck it up, but if I do, I'm very sorry :P

**BRRRRINNGGGGGGGGGG**

The bell rang, echoing through the nearly silent classroom, jolting Grantaire awake. As others scrambled to grab their books and turn in their tests that they were supposed to have taken that period, he was rubbing sleep out of his eyes and glancing down at his test paper. The only thing actually written on it was his fancily scrawled signature at the top.

He sighed as he looked from the paper to the disapprovingly angry eyes of his World History teacher. Hangovers were a bitch. He reluctantly got out of his seat, slung his backpack over his left shoulder, and put his test on the pile on Mr. Seymore’s desk. Slouching out of the room, he did his best to ignore the silent lecture he knew he was getting from the boring eyes of Mr. Charles S. Seymore.

“Great job there, R.” Bossuet said with a cheeky grin, punching Grantaire’s arm as he and his group of what passed for rebels in the school Grantaire attended lounged outside the room, waiting to give him shit. He rolled his eyes as he stalked passed him, not in the mood to deal with his unlucky friend.

“It’s too early for this shit.” He mumbled, coming up to his locker and letting the book bag roll off his shoulder, colliding with the locker next to his and sliding down to the ground as Grantaire fumbled with the combination lock.

“The school day just ended, R. This isn’t early by any means.” Éponine said grouchily, leaning against the locker to his right, a cigarette between her lips. Grantaire rolled his eyes and snatched it from her mouth, shoving it into his pocket as he pulled open the locker door despite Éponine’s protests, which included in many varied forms the words “Fuck you”.

“Number one, this shit will kill you.” Grantaire said, shoving his bag between his knees and kneeling down to unzip it before throwing a cheeky grin at Éponine. They both knew that neither of them were going to quit smoking any time soon. “Number two, we both know that if you get caught with a cigarette here, you’ll get another detention. Do you want to make me wait another hour after school for your nicotine addicted ass when we could be out in the city by then?”

Sighing, Éponine admitted that that was not her ideal plan for that day and used her elbows to shove herself off from the locker and stalked off, no doubt in order to meet up with her shockingly deadbeat boyfriend Montparnasse.

“Fucking bitch.” Grantaire mumbled to himself under his breath as he continued to stack books in his locker haphazardly, not really caring if they spilled out later as long as they got crammed in now. Finishing that task, he stood. Grabbing his dilapidated wallet from the top shelf of his locker and his lanyard from the hook inside, he swung his bag back over his shoulder, slammed the locker door, and turned, fully ready to stalk out of the building and wait in his car for his hunk of flesh of a best friend to turn up so they could drive into the city and forget their troubles again.

And that’s precisely what he did.

Ignoring the shouts of the miscreants Bahorel and Courfeyrac, he made his way down the speckled linoleum halls of Ocean Sides High School. He saw Éponine again, her blue-grey jean material shirt and rose-patterned leggings one of the few things that made her stand out in the sea of females that she was surrounded by, all of them looking on in disgust as she and Montparnasse preformed detailed oral searches on each other with their tongues.

Rolling his eyes after making brief eye contact with her, he tapped his wrist as if he was wearing a watch and shot his head in the direction of the doors. She rolled her eyes back and made a small glance at Montparnasse, who was still trying to stick his tongue as far down her throat as he possibly could. The message was clear; they would be going nowhere until the criminal got his fill.

Shaking his head in disgust, he walked past them down the hallway, looking down at the tops of his worn Vans in an attempt to avoid eye contact with anyone and prolong his forced socialization in this hell that they called an educational facility.

“That asshole’s got another thing coming,” a severe voice growled next to Grantaire’s ear. His body immediately went rigid and a sly smile pressed over his lips. He knew that voice far too well. He looked over his shoulder to see Enjolras, the man of marble himself, striding firmly behind him and attempting to fight his way through the crowd of zombielike high schoolers to walk beside him. He slowed down a bit in an attempt to let him catch up.

“Montparnasse? Yeah, he’s a bit of a fuckwit.” Grantaire agreed, shoving his hands into his pockets in an attempt to keep them to himself. There were multiple things that he would enjoy doing to this Apollo-like being with them, but he knew that these fantasies were, in fact, fantasies. Glancing over the godlike features of his friend, he noticed that the clenching of his jaw was less so that of a disgusted onlooker but more of subtle rage. “But hey, if they enjoy it, who's to stop them?”

“I don’t know, but someone ought to.” Enjolras muttered, eyeing Grantaire as if trying to make something of him. Grantaire sighed, knowing that look. Enjolras was always trying to find something of use in Grantaire. He couldn’t just accept the drunken cynic as simply that, he always had to look for something of deeper meaning, something of profit for him. Not that Grantaire would be much begrudged if he found it. He lived to serve Enjolras, orbited him like a satellite orbited a planet. He was Enjolras’s moon, a constant by his side whenever possible. It was in observing this harsh look that Grantaire noticed something deeper in his eyes than simple want-of-use.

“Why’s it matter? You got a thing for Éponine or something?” Grantaire asked, half jokingly, half serious. He well knew that his best friend was gorgeous, an object of desire for a lot of guys around the school. Not that they had to desire for very long. Éponine was notorious for her lack of self-esteem and abundance of sexual frustration. She often found those two things taken advantage of, a thing much to both her liking and disgust. And he also worried that he could lose his Apollo to her. But those worries were soon put to rest by the clenching of Enjolras’s jaw and the harsh angle his brow took.

“Not at all. I just know how Montparnasse treats his women.” Enjolras said simply, pushing open the glass doors of the school and stepping down the grey concrete steps with Grantaire to the student parking lot. Some people, the freshmen and sophomores who lived close to the school, walked along the grass in front of the school towards the sidewalks that would lead them home where your studious minded ones would study, your rebellious ones would get ready for parties, and your jocks and band geeks would gear up for the football game that night. Others, like Grantaire and Enjolras, made their way to their cars so as to go home and do the same.

“’Ponine knows that. She won’t let him hurt her.” Grantaire half assured him, almost nervously, hoping he didn’t come off as either uncaring or overly confident. Enjolras nodded absentmindedly, straightening his jacket and arranging the straps of his bag on his shoulders.

“I know. She’s a good kid. She’s come to some of the meetings, seems pretty interested.” At that comment, Grantaire rolled his eyes. Of course, that’s what he was worried about. The meetings.

These meetings Enjolras spoke of were the meetings of the Friends of the ABC, a student organization founded and run by Enjolras himself that was two parts debate club, one part social activist front, and three parts useless in Grantaire’s opinion. But he went to the meetings nonetheless, both to be the much needed cynic among believers and to watch Enjolras. Grantaire filled a void in the club, and Enjolras filled a void in Grantaire. It was a deadly combination, but one that Grantaire enjoyed immensely.

“Of course, the meetings. Do you ever think about anything else?” Grantaire asked, punching Enjolras lightly in the arm and opening the gate in the chain link fence to get into the parking lot. The hot California sun had been baking the interior of the cars for eight hours, so the parking lot was littered with teenagers leaning against hoods and trunks, socializing and letting the cars air out before getting in them to start their weekend.

“Sometimes.” Enjolras quibbed lightly, glancing down his nose at Grantaire with a sly grin, as if begging to be asked. But Grantaire, grinning back, wouldn’t be caught in that trap. He’d been down that rabbit hole several times with his marble Adonis, and he knew exactly where it was leading. Patria this, revolution that, tearing down governments and citizen led anarchy. It was all relevant to the blond.

“Well, if you ever want to think about something other than your precious revolution, give me a call. I’ve got some magic that can make you stop thinking all together.” Grantaire said with a smirk, shoving his key into the side of his rust-red ’72 Chevelle SS. Enjolras smirked back, made a noncommittal gesture of shoving Grantaire against his car, and walked to his own. He took no notion of letting the car air out and peeled out into the street, no doubt thinking about the revolutions that could be going on that simply could not wait for him.

Grantaire chuckled as he opened the car door and got in, rolling down the windows that he could but not daring to open the other side door. The car had been a steal, found it rusting in a junk body shop that didn’t know what they had. He’d fixed her up real nice, the engine revved and you heard it blocks away. The paint may not have shined like it could have, but he liked her that way. Nice, simple, and aged. Which is why he couldn’t risk opening the other door and having some idiot who didn’t know shit about cars run into it and rip it off. That kind of car took some serious cash to fix up, and he couldn’t afford a whole door.

He turned the key in the ignition, kept her in park, and turned on an indie radio station to wait for Éponine. Leaning back the seat a bit and stretching out, he thought about how little he could wait to get into the city. Normally the car’d be packed with Bossuet, Bahorel, Montparnasse and occasionally Babet, crammed in the back seat without a care for seatbelts or other safety precautions. But on this particular day, Babet’d skipped school to prepare for the heist he, Montparnasse, and a couple of other lowlifes where planning for that night, and Bahorel and Bossuet had been told that if they skipped another game, they’d be off the football team for the rest of the season. So it was just Éponine and Grantaire, and they were going to make the most of it.

Leaning back some more, Grantaire smiled to himself as he listened to the roar of engines starting at the laughs of teenagers feeling a small taste of freedom for the first time in nearly five days. He dozed off, thinking that maybe high school wasn’t too hellish after all. 


End file.
